


T.J Eckleberg's Billboard

by Duckseamail



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: Comedy, Gen, It frustrates me that, POV First Person, Prohibition Era, Prohibition made me rethink a whole plot point, SO, everyone gets drunk in the great gatsby, it was so annoying, yet there is no mention of prohibition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23100577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckseamail/pseuds/Duckseamail
Summary: A short story from the perspective of the character Owl Eyes, but if Owl Eyes were actually T.J. Eckleberg. This entire story is kind of a flashback/monologue thing about how Owl Eyes/T.J. Eckleberg went about getting a billboard and also why he seems so intent on exposing Gatsby when he's at the party.
Comments: 2





	T.J Eckleberg's Billboard

A wave of water splashed over the side of my car when I slid to a stop in the middle of a giant puddle. I slammed the door closed behind me and ran up to a man, who was looking at me curiously. I’m reasonably sure I met him at some point. Hardly anybody else was there. Just an older man, a minister, and a couple of people who might have been servants from the house. The brim of my hat was bending into my face. It wasn’t made for this sort of weather, and I could feel the top of my head growing damp. The rain pelted down, and I could barely see through my glasses. I took them off to try and wipe the water away when I was struck by a sense of deja vu, and a memory rushed to the front of my mind. It was from five years ago, just after I had arrived in New York. 

flashbackflashbackflashbackflashbackflashbackflashbackflashbackflashbackflashbackflashbackflashbackflashback

The train rattled into the Valley of Ashes and hissed as it slowed to a stop. I was going to the City, so I stayed in my seat, and pressed my face against the cool window, and watched the raindrops race each other from top to bottom. So far, my time on the East coast hasn't been as grand as I hoped. I’m still using the money from the contest, and I know that it can’t last forever. I looked out the window and stared at an empty billboard. The boards were mottled, and one of them was falling off entirely. My eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to it, though, and I was struck by inspiration. I jumped up from my seat and sprinted off the train just in time. I was a few feet away when the whistle blew, and it started puffing out smoke and left, continuing on to New York.

I looked up at the billboard as I walked across the tracks. That turned out to be a bad idea when my foot sunk into a puddle of muddy water. I pulled my shoe out with a squelch and shook it a bit to try and get the mud off. It didn’t work. I sighed and turned back to the billboard. It looked to be two blocks away, and I sighed again when I realized I would be thoroughly soaked by the time I got to it. I started walking, my eyes roaming over the people around me. I don’t think it was just the rain that made them look gray and washed out. Everyone was squinting at the ground. My billboard would fix that. It would be like some sort of beacon for...hope and greatness; everyone would know me because of the way my soon-to-be-created advertisement would change their lives for the better.

I trudged up to the base of the billboard. When I looked up, I could only see part of the empty board. I saw the flicker of white I was looking for and walked up to the paper that said “For Rent” on it. Perfect. I took off my glasses, rubbed at them with my coat, and held them up to check if they were clear. That’s when I saw a payphone across the street. I snatched the soggy paper from the billboard so no one else could call, and hurried over to the payphone.

Later that month, my billboard was finally complete. Once the train stopped in the Valley of Ashes, I finally had the chance to see it from afar. I looked out the window and up at my eyes. It was perfect. I would look at the people walking by, and they would have to look back. It didn’t really matter that I wasn’t an oculist. I could work that out later when I got a house in West Egg. The whistle shrieked, the train car rumbled, and we moved on to New York City. I finally started to look around me, at all the people with their heads bent together. They must be talking about me already! I focused on what the man across the aisle from me was saying to the person next to him.

“Did you hear about the party in West Egg on Saturday?”

“Ah, yes. Jake Catsby, was it?”

Oh. Well, maybe they just didn’t see my billboard from that side of the train. So, I turned my attention to the two women sitting in front of me.

“Yes! His name is _Gatsby_...”

“Gatsby? I heard he's a bootlegger.”

“Well, I don’t particularly care if that’s true, because his party was simply amazing. You’ll come next week, won’t you?”

Again, not a single mention of my name, only this “Gatsby” who threw some party over the weekend. It was only then that I started to hear the mutterings happening all across the car. Gatsby, Gatsby, Gatsby, Gatsby! Not one single person was saying anything about T.J. Eckleberg!

I took a breath and shut my eyes. This was fine. Obviously, this party had been spectacular, but tomorrow people would forget about it and pay attention to me. Maybe, someone would even recognize me on the train.

The next day, nobody took any notice of my billboard. How much could somebody have to say about a little party?

I was sure people would notice the billboard at some point. If not today, next week, or the week after that, or even the next month. Eventually, people would know who I am, and I’d be the most well-known person in East and West Egg.

But that didn’t happen. The next week, people were talking about the second party that happened at Gatsby’s. They did every week, all the way through to the next month. Sometimes, I thought I saw somebody’s eyes land on my advertisement, but then they’d look away and talk about _Gatsby_. I hated him like I had never I hated anyone else in my life.

My eyes caught sight of a bag that was lying open under the seat in front of me. Just peeking through the clutter was a flask. I glanced around me, then carefully reached down, and swept it up behind my coat. I took a quick drink, then tucked it away. But, by the end of the ride into the City, I was so tired of hearing about _that man_ , that the flask was empty.

Over the next few years, this became a routine of sorts. I would sit on the train to and from the city, finding odd jobs here and there, and watching while my billboard grew more and more worn. I had stopped putting money into its upkeep early in the first year. Every now and then, I’d take a flask or bottle out of some unsuspecting person's bag, and spend the day stewing in my anger.

One summer, I hit the jackpot. Some stupid person had a bag with bottles and bottles of alcohol. It was a miracle they hadn’t been caught by the Prohibition Unit. I emptied the bits and bobs in my own bag, and when everyone was jostling to get off the train car, I swapped them and walked into the crowd.

It was a couple of days later when I went out again. It was a beautiful day, so I decided I was going to take a walk in the park near where I lived. I had been walking for close to a half-hour when I remembered there was no park near my apartment! I turned towards the train station and hoped to wander in just in time for the next train through the Valley of Ashes. Turns out, I had plenty of time because when I got there, it was early morning again. I picked a few leaves out of my hair and took a wild step onto the train.

People were talking about _him_ again. Why? Gatsby wasn’t so great. Nobody actually wanted to live in a grand house on the sound and have hundreds of people over every weekend. It was a thoroughly impractical way to live, and I just knew at that moment that I had to expose him. When was next Saturday? About a week from now? I wasn’t entirely sure, so I found out through some clever eavesdropping that it was, in fact, Saturday _today_. Perfect!

I got off the train and made a beeline to the garage I had seen out the window. Sometimes, it sold cars.

A man greeted me when I rushed in and said his name was George. Or maybe it was Marvin. I don’t know. I do know that I told him in no uncertain terms that I would be purchasing a car from him today.

When I left, I was the proud owner of a car. It was a very nice car, so I knew I would fit right in with all the people at Gatsby’s. Unfortunately, I had used most of my money on the car, so I wasn’t able to rent a chauffeur. I was a pretty good driver, though, and that evening I made my way into West Egg and drove my car up a long, crowded driveway.

endsuperlongflashbackendsuperlongflashbackendsuperlongflashbackendsuperlongflashbackendsuperlongflashback

Standing by as Gatsby’s funeral ended, I was filled with understanding for him. He had succeeded where I had failed. He was popular and well-liked and had enough money to throw parties every week, each one more and more elaborate. When I came to New York, I wanted everything he had gotten. But, here we were. Gatsby was dead, and there were only a handful of people here. Everyone was gray and squinting down at the ground, and I realized how pointless this whole ordeal was. Gatsby and I had led very different lives here, and neither of us seemed to have anybody who really saw us. I’m sure Gatsby would live on in people’s recollections of his grand parties, but I only had a billboard that was falling apart. I think I’m going to sell it, and leave New York. Maybe find a place where the people are a little more genuine.

**Author's Note:**

> While I really hated reading The Great Gatsby, I had a great time writing this, and I find it hilarious. I hope it made y'all laugh.


End file.
